


A Court of Dance and Bloodshed

by illyrian_tattoos



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Civil War, Illyrian Camps, Illyrians, POV Cassian (ACoTaR), Post-Canon, Pregnant Feyre Archeron, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:48:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23588662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illyrian_tattoos/pseuds/illyrian_tattoos
Summary: Originally published on Wattpad.In the POV of Cassian from the A Court of Thorns and Roses series following A Court of Frost and Starlight takes place, the Night Court must deal with it's inner turmoil as the Illyrians rebel and launch all-out war.Please leave a kudos or comment if you like it or have any polite critiques!DISCLAIMER:  These are not my characters, they belong to Sarah J Maas.
Relationships: Elain Archeron & Azriel, Elain Archeron & Feyre Archeron & Nesta Archeron, Feyre Archeron/Rhysand, Nesta Archeron/Cassian
Kudos: 14





	1. Prologue

The moment we received Devlon's head and wings in a box was one of the worst in my life. 

My first thoughts had been to another century, two other boxes. The first box containing the head of a child whose face was as dear to me as Rhys and Azriel's etched in pain. The second box showing the face of a woman who had become a mother to me in the camp that I both loved and hated.

I dug my blunt, chewed nails deep into my palms in an attempt to shake the memory and focus on the terrible implications of the present.

We were at war.


	2. House of Shadow and Steel

The iron-scented air hung between the six of us, clinging to our clothes as the image clung to our memories.

A string of profanities fit for a half-millennia old warrior escaped my lips, each foul syllable echoing off the walls.We were all gathered around Rhys' desk in the River House and everyone was too stunned by the contents of the box to acknowledge my words.We knew.We knew who this was from without having to read the note nailed to Devlon's bloody wings.

Elain sat back in a chair in the corner of the room, face distraught.

"The threat is internal." Az spoke quietly, already brooding, already blaming himself for the nasty surprise, the loss of an ally.

"More than that, it's strong enough that they feel confident warning us of their impending threat.Did we make such a grave mistake focusing on the peace our world was primed for rather than the dissent within our borders?" Feyre asked worriedly, already rubbing comforting circles on Rhys' back while he continued to stare blankly into the glazed eyes of the camp lord who had always been at odds with him, but never allowed a word of rebellion against him.Maybe it had been out of fear, but I believed it was because even though he disagreed, Devlon had an immense amount of respect for the High Lord who he had trained since we were younglings, and I thought maybe he might have even been secretly proud.Proud to know that the most powerful High Lord in the history of Prythian was half Illyrian.Proud that the three bastards he had trained had earned their own legends, yet still held to their principles.I knew it was a lot to imagine, but I truly hoped it was the case.I hoped that when Devlon had chosen the more treacherous path, which I was sure he had been well-aware of at the time he had chosen, that he hadn't chosen out of obligation, but rather conviction. Conviction that this path was true and he was willing to stand by his High Lord and High Lady, that he had witnessed them battle Hybern, and he had heard Feyre's earth-shattering wails when his High Lord had spent every drop of magic reforging the cauldron. It was a fool's hope, but I hoped that from whatever realm Devlon was in, he did not regret his choice to stand by the rulers of the Night Court.

Rhys finally spoke, but it was a soft, broken voice that came out."Yes, darling.I— I should have foreseen this, I might've been able to do something.I knew they disliked me and I was worried about civil war, but I didn't realize how severely they must hate me if they're willing to murder an Illyrian lord just to send a message."

"We still needed to fight to maintain the peace, Rhys.It's not like we've been sitting on our asses." I reminded him gently.

Feyre nodded absentmindedly at me and then turned to Az. "Ironcrest, do you think?"

Az shook his head, eyes calculating the situation. "Unlikely. Kallon is a warrior-in-training and his father is not very well-respected. Kallon may have helped spread dissent, but he will not have any say in how the rebels act against us."

Amren spoke lightly with an air of panic that I had rarely heard from her. "Where is Nesta?"

Nesta. I jolted. I had left Nesta at the camp this morning to come to Velaris for another security meeting regarding the Court of Nightmares. The same camp, I remembered as the blood leeched from Feyre's face, that Devlon had just been murdered in.


	3. House of Hope and Ash

"I'm going." Feyre said in an icy tone to match her eyes. It was moments like this, when I saw my High Lady and sister in the icy calm that had befallen her now, that I was reminded of her relation to Nesta.  
"Feyre, your belly isn't even fitting into your leathers anymore. What if you were hurt? I won't stop you but—" Rhys gritted his teeth. "It's difficult to risk you, especially in your current state."  
Feyre gently laid a hand on my brother's cheek. "This is my _sister,_ Rhys. Remember our bargain. As long as you are fighting so am I. I can find some different leathers, and I'm not so big yet that I won't fit into the armour."  
Rhys held tightly to her hand for a moment before gently lowering it and interlocking their fingers. It was an unlucky time to succeed in getting pregnant for them. We'd scented a change in Feyre, along with a huge spike in her powers, which, Majda told us, would likely last a year after she'd given birth, just three months ago. She was always strong, but _this_ — she could seriously be considered a rival to Rhys' power now, and even after learning of her pregnancy, she kept up on her training, claiming that no one could expect her to sit on her ass for a year while the little one grew in her womb. Even as we all knew that we would be even more protective than usual, we knew that the babe was only making her stronger, and it motivated us all to live to meet it.  
"Azriel, do we have reports on our old camp?" Rhys asked.   
"Hazy ones. Much as I would like to believe in the undying loyalty of my spies, I question whether or not I can trust the Illyrian ones right now. My own shadows have been searching for any signs of traps, but they detect nothing. This rebellion was either planned carelessly or extremely carefully. While I've heard of nothing, there could still be traps carefully placed to be undetectable until sprung." His pacing around the map of the Steppes betrayed his nervousness and frustration. Much as he hated the culture he'd grown up in, he still respected the training that had been bestowed upon him. "I may have to go in person to accurately scout the danger."  
"No." I blurted, feeling my anger rise. "Az, if this is a trap, then you will not walk into it alone. If extra scouting is needed, no one is going in alone, these enemies don't want to taunt and torture us, they want us dead as fast as possible. You won't be alive long enough for a rescue attempt to be made if there is a trap, or who knows? Maybe they'll leave you alive just long enough to use you as bait for the rest of us."  
I knew that I had directed my frustration on my brother unfairly, but I was too worked up to stop. "You won't be going and getting yourself killed. Our first step is contacting Mor to bring her back here. We can't let news of this uprising spread to the other courts, but perhaps we could call to Lucien—"  
"That is unneeded." I gave a jolt, embarrassed for having forgotten the middle Archeron _and Lucien's mate_ was in the room, trying to quietly sift through visions of different places on the map and quietly writing notes in her neat, perfect scrawl. "You forget that I am capable of looking into their meetings and seeing glimpses of their lives. Before we go walking into camps blind or calling on a certain emissary to fight a battle that need not involve him—" Feyre gave let out a frustrated exhale at that. "Might I first suggest seeing what we're up against? There's no cauldron this time to block me from seeing them, so it should work perfectly fine. Rhysand? Would you give me a clear memory of the Ironcrest camp as well as the one I landed in before the war?"   
There was a beat of silence. I don't think anyone had imagined the baker and gardener sitting on a finely-appointed chair in the corner of Feyre's study would command the room in such a way. Feyre and Rhys looked at each other, obviously communicating through that daemati mating bond of theirs, but Rhys broke the eye contact and closed his eyes. Elain squeezed her eyes shut, the knuckles whitening over her grip on the armrests.  
"They weren't careless." Elain gritted out. "They planned for the trap to shut on someone who winnowed. I don't know how they did it. If you land anywhere on the Steppes it will be triggered." Her eyes traveled behind their lids, catching as many details as she could. "They've based their largest war tent in that awful, bloody camp, Ironcrest, but Az is right, a male with silver streaks in his hair missing the tip of his little finger on his right hand is the leader. Females with scarred wings shout war cries and supply the tents, they shout profanities about the half-breed High Lord and his human mate and the bastards he has do his dirty work." She shuddered. "They paint a picture of a Hybern-like High Lord and his cabal of monsters. They are willing to die if it means freedom from your rule."  
Her eyes opened slowly and she slouched in the chair, rubbing her temples. "They hate us all with a passion, and they have Nesta. I— I couldn't find her. I was drawn to the core of the rebellion, she must either be elsewhere or in one of the tents."  
I saw red across my vision. The Illyrians were some of the worst brutes in the war, near even Hybern's creatures. These were the traditionalists we were dealing with, there was no question after hearing Elain's description. Lynor Kaetan, Lord of the Bloodborn camp. I loved my people, but I knew that if they had Nesta in one of those tents, there was not an Illyrian I wouldn't slaughter to get her out.  
Azriel placed a hand on my shoulder his iron grip firm, but comforting. "It is time to build a plan." He turned to Rhys. "I think it is high time to call back Morrigan."


	4. House of Knives and Death

"We need to get Nesta out with minimal casualties." Mor drilled, pacing the River House foyer. "If we can do that, we have a chance of still quelling the rebellion before too many lives are lost." She added, cutting a look towards me. 

She'd been travelling eastern continent for nearly half the year, with visits home few and far between. Her skin had tanned and her golden hair had lightened, but what seemed most noticeable to me was that despite the situation we were to march into, her eyes held a small glimmer of joy.My friend had been rebuilding old political relations, yes, but she was also reacquainting herself with old friends and expanding her knowledge through visiting ancient sites and learning new techniques and skills.I made a note to have her teach me all she'd learned these months after we got through this. 

"Rhys will try to use his power to track Nesta.Feyre and Rhys will try to avoid using their powers for much else than incapacitating the rebels with their daemati powers.Feyre will maintain a mental network among all of us so we will continue to know if Elain finds anything new and keep up with everything as it happens.We will be able to hear Feyre and she will hear us, but she will have to send our messages to everyone else."Feyre nodded at my words, already slipping into a deadly focus."When Feyre and Rhys figure out where Nesta is exactly, Azriel will slip Amren and I into his shadows and wait with Mor on the outskirts of the camp.Elain will stay here and try to find Nesta as well as monitor Velaris.If anything happens on this end, she will send word and Mor and Azriel will be able to winnow back."

"There won't be any incidents here.The governors of the different palaces will come by and be annoyed that they cannot be seen to, but that is a concern for later.Keir will stay in the Hewn City, but you will need to visit him after this battle.He is leaning toward the Illyrians in this conflict."Elain added with confidence, standing at the stairs, her hands clasped gently in front of her pastel purple dress. 

I nodded.I wasn't sure if I would ever get used to her with those powers.The only other seer I had ever met was a queen of one of the smaller and more wealthy territories to the west."All clear on the plans?" I asked, grabbing Mor's hand and watching the others all prepare to winnow.

Azriel was to scout one of the valleys we were to winnow to before the Steppes ahead of the rest of us, but he turned to Feyre."Save some of your healing gifts in case."The end of that sentence hung between us, filling the air with dread.

———————————<•>———————————

I hated this waiting.We had to fly a bit further to reach the Steppes and the end of the trap. I flew with Amren in my arms, calmly reading a spell book, while Mor winnowed with us and the rest flew. 

I set Amren down gently at her request, and she began her work. Her focus was to disable the trap, her fingers already shimmering and face twisted in focus.

Dread filled me as I walked closer magic. That was magic that I had only ever witnessed once, great and terrible in its might. It was the raw power of the Cauldron, of death. It was Nesta. 

I knew everyone else recognized it too. Nesta and I had been making progress and I knew that she never wanted to witness another war but that if her sisters were at stake, she would wipe her brow and do it all over again. _Why would she work against us?_ I blocked out that question along with the horrific possibilities. I needed to focus. This was a rescue and I couldn't afford to go into it thinking like a male with a wounded heart. I was the general of the Night Court's army, one half if the two most powerful Illyrians in history with the most powerful High Lord and his mate behind me. I had two very powerful High Fae with me as well, the Morrigan and an extremely old being in a brand new High Fae body. This unit had fought in a war together and won, and many of us had fought in the one before it too.

My people were never to be underestimated, but I had never imagined a situation where they could break someone like Nesta. My heart ached.Maybe they hadn't needed to break her, maybe I'd done it for them.

I felt the air in front of us crackle and spark, the energy unweaving itself under Amren's deft fingers.

Amren grimaced as the curtain fell."I don't know how many wards and traps I will be able to break down, this body is weaker and the girl's power is unpredictable and dangerous.It takes more out of me than usual."

Rhys spared her a glance of worry before launching and following Feyre through the skies.Ironcrest wasn't far, it just lay two peaks west of our landing position.Mor started warding the area that Azriel marked out, his shadows swarming and making him look to be made of shadow himself.

"Are you ready?" I asked, turning to Amren, still with her eyes screwed shut.

She huffed and opened her arms, motioning for me to come pick her up while she readjusted. "Get over here, you overgrown bat, we can't be two far behind our High Lord and Lady. Those two will get so engrossed they'll walk right into another trap."

I rolled my eyes, walking over and scooping up the tiny female. I knew it was an exaggeration, of course, but my thoughts still went to that day in an awful castle, one brother with a bolt in his chest and the other looking as if he was watching a nightmare unfold in reality.My heart clenched, but I just smiled down lazily. 

"Let's get going then."

Amren cracked open her eyes and examined my face for a moment.I felt that she saw the smile for what it was, but she didn't mention it, only inclining her head."Let's."

And so we were once again in the air, chasingRhys and Feyre who were only to stop if they sensed a ward or trap.We still had some of Azriel's intel, but it was less to be relied on and more a vague map.It was likely that there were real traps posted in the locations indicated by Azriel's spies, but far less likely that the strength and type of trap were also reported correctly, not to mention the undoubted other wards and traps that the spies had left out.

I felt a twist in my gut. _Panic, fear, rage._ Such unfettered, wild, burning rage that was already cooling to icy calm that at first I didn't understand. The skies were the calmest place for me— _Feyre._ This wasn't my rage. Looking down at Amren, I caught the grim understanding flash in her eyes.

"Were they caught? What happened?" I demanded, mind racing. I knew of the training Feyre had, the emotion flowing to us was the overflow of what was raging within the walks of her own mind.

Amren met my eyes, throat bobbing. "They found her. Nesta."

_Nesta._ As the thought clanged through my mind, I realized I had not experienced even the beginnings of the word racing before. My heart pounded so hard I was sure Amren could hear it even over the wind. 

Amren pinched my arm and I realized we had dropped a few feet, my wing beats becoming irregular with my heart. _Where is she? Is she hurt?_ I felt anger—mine this time—flood through my veins at the thoughts. 

_She is in a medium-sized tent near the base of the ridge._ My High Lady's voice answered back. _Rhys used his power to locate her, but there are so many wards. We need Amren to release them for certain, but we may very well need to call for Mor and Az. Rhys has the minds of nearly everyone in the camp, but there are still a few that have been able to resist him so far._

I sped faster through the sky, more careless and less concerned about the death-grip Amren currently held on the collar of my leathers. 

———————————<•>———————————

Amren and I hit the ground hard, my knees nearly bucking and the shock absorbed from the landing. Az and Mor were already there, the former's shadows spread through the whole camp, presumably taking this opportunity to scout the enemy camp in every intimate detail.

The camp was a ghost town. The only others I had seen were standing stalk-still, minds ensnared by Rhys. "There are still a few whose minds won't bend to my will, and applying any more pressure might break the minds of everyone else, so be careful. There may be daemati or at the very least, those trained against my powers here, so stay sharp." My brother said tersely. 

"Duly noted." I responded. Despite what we'd agreed about killing, we were still armed to the teeth. Rhys held his sword in one hand and a knife in the other, Illyrian bow strapped to his back. Azriel had Truth-Teller at the ready and Mor grasped her Seraphim steel, a double- sided sword with crescent-shaped blades and a knife I'd never seen before. 

I watched Feyre for a moment, noting her stance and the way she held her two knives with confidence. She'd come a long way from a broken, skinny female with dull grey-blue eyes to this High Lady that stood before me. A shimmer of pride sparked in my chest at knowing that I was the reason she knew how to wield those. 

As if she sensed my feelings— which I supposed she did— she turned to me with a small nod and a wicked grin as the last ward fell. I gave returned the smile, palming my own two knives, the scales of armour unfurling from my siphons. 

It was time to take her back.


End file.
